8

It was dusk two days later when the little cavalcade approached the mining and smelter town of Fairplay. Following a tortuous canyon route westward, they had emerged this morning onto the flat, level reaches of the famed South Park, a lush mountain valley thirty miles wide in some places, stretching for more than sixty miles north and south against the very base of the Continental Divide at a mean altitude of some eight thousand feet above sea level.

The town of Fairplay lay at the extreme northern end of South Park, an isolated village perched on the lower slope of the Divide, cramped against the base of a secondary range on the north. There was a wagon road from Fairplay into Denver over which the smelted gold ore was transported to the mint, and for years there had been agitation for a railroad to connect the mining center with the larger city.

Fairplay itself was small, with a resident population of not more than a thousand, but it was a hell-roaring town in its own right when the bearded miners came down from the hills to carouse and gamble and get rid of the high wages paid them for mucking gold out of the bowels of the towering peaks above the little town.

Fairplay was off a direct route to their objective where they hoped to follow a secluded pass over the Divide and down to Sanctuary Flat, and Pat had tried to argue his two partners out of making the northward swing necessary to bring them into the town, but Ezra and Sam had overruled his arguments.

None of them had been in Fairplay for years, and it just didn’t seem right to Sam and Ezra for them to pass the town by without a visit. They had enough lonely travel over the mountains ahead of them, they reminded Pat, so it wouldn’t do any harm to spend one last night in civilization before striking out into the wilderness. And the way they were putting away the chuck he cooked up for them, Ezra pointed out, they’d be running out of staples before they ever crossed the Divide if they didn’t replenish their supply.

Inwardly, Pat knew this was all merely for the sake of argument. His two companions were like boys playing hooky from school on this trip and they didn’t want to pass up the chance for excitement that a night in Fairplay offered. Pat grimly foresaw trouble when his partners cut loose among the saloons and gambling houses, and he was worried about what might happen to Dock in those surroundings, but he was one against two and was forced to give in.

One against three, really, for his son quickly sided with Sam and Ezra when the argument began. He was having the time of his life, and he’d never even seen a town like Fairplay. His eyes grew big and round with excitement when he heard the older men discussing Fairplay and other booming mining towns they had known in the past, and he reminded his father that he was twelve years old now, and knew all about saloons and gambling houses for gosh sake.

Lights glowed in the town itself and dotted the mountain sides above it as night came on and they were a quarter of a mile away. The three men pushed along in front at a trot while Dock brought up the rear with his small remuda of pack and extra saddle horses.

“There she lays,” said Ezra gleefully, swinging a big arm out in an arc toward the lights. “Wonder if Happy Jack’s still runnin’ his joint ’side of the Elite Hotel.”

“If it’s not Happy Jack it’ll be somebody else,” Pat said grimly. “All I ask is that you both leave yore guns in the hotel before you sashay out to sample Fairplay’s night life.”

Sam looked at him with disgust plainly written on his ugly dark face. “Go out plumb undressed?” he protested. “A man’d think we was a couple of kids the way yo’re tryin’ tuh ride herd on us, Pat.”

“I know what’s bound to happen after you’ve sampled the likker in half a dozen saloons,” Pat groaned. “I’ve got to think of Dock. What’ll Sally say when she finds out I brought him into Fairplay on a drinkin’ spree?”

“Don’t you worry none about Dock,” Ezra spat out disgustedly. “He’s bigger’n you was when you run away from home. He kin watch out for hisself.”

Pat Stevens sighed heavily. That was an argument no father was ever able to answer. Sure, he hadn’t been any older than Dock when he struck out for himself, but it seemed to him there was a lot of difference. Near as he could remember, he had been plumb grown up at that age. And Dock was still just a boy. Almost a baby. He found himself wondering guiltily if his father had felt that same way about him. It was the first time he’d ever thought about it just that way.

He said gruffly, “You-all ride on ahead. I’ll drop back an’ have a little talk with Dock ’fore we get to town.”

“Shore,” said Sam Sloan jovially. “It’s time you tole him thuh fac’s of life, Pat. Tell him from me when he picks him out a dance gal at Happy Jack’s tuh lay off thuh blondes. They’re plumb dynamite. Tell him tuh pick a red-head every time.”

Pat snorted his disgust at this advice to a twelve-year-old boy, and reined his horse down to wait for Dock to overtake him. He pulled off to the side of the trail to let the seven-horse herd trot past him, and then dropped into pace beside his son bringing up the rear.

“Gee Dad! is that you?” Dock greeted him gleefully. “We’re ’most there, ain’t we?”

“Yep. That’s Fairplay right ahead, Dock. It’ll be the first time you’ve ever been around a town like Fairplay.”

“I reckon so.” Dock’s voice was eager. “Will there be a shootin’ tonight, do you reckon?”

“Most likely,” Pat grumbled. “Don’t many nights pass in Fairplay that there ain’t some kind of excitement.”

“This’ll sure be somethin’ to tell the kids back at school. Gosh, I bet you’re the only Dad I know that’d let me go right along with you. I bet all the rest of ’em would expect me to sit up in the hotel while they went out an’ had a big time.”

Pat’s heart sank inside of him. That was precisely why he had dropped back to talk to Dock. He had intended to order him to stay inside a locked room tonight. He couldn’t do that now. Not after the admiring tone of Dock’s voice. He said lamely, “I want you to be careful, son. If any trouble starts, you duck under a table.”

“Will there be fancy women in the saloons, Dad? You know. The kind that take drinks an’ dance with the men?”

“You’re too young to talk about things like that,” Pat exploded. “You’re too young, by golly, to know about things like that. What’d your mother say?”

“But we don’t hafta tell her,” Dock said hopefully. “Gee, I reckon that’s Main Street right ahead. What’ll we do with the hawses?”

“Stop at the first livery stable we come to,” Pat said shortly. “Push ’em up a little right behind Sam an’ Ezra. They’ll turn in the first stable they see.”

It was barely dark, and Fairplay hadn’t got started yet. Main Street was lined with saloons and gambling houses, all ablaze with light and ready for the night’s activities but it was too early for many of the miners to have reached town. A few bearded men sauntered along the boardwalks and looked curiously at the small pack-train entering town, but on the surface it was as decorous as a Saturday night in Dutch Springs.

Pat breathed a little sigh of relief when Sam and Ezra turned sharply and rode in through the wide door of a big building with the sign LIVERY STABLE over the door. Maybe things weren’t going to be as bad as he had feared.

He spurred his horse ahead on the left side of the street to turn the driven horses into the stable behind Sam and Ezra, and reined up in front of Sam who had dismounted and was exuberantly pounding a one-armed man on the back while they swore affectionately at each other.

“Looky here, Pat! Who dyuh reckon I run into fust thing? Five-Fingers Martin! Doggone but yo’re a sight for sore eyes, Five-Fingers. How long yuh been in Fairplay?”

“Goin’ on five years. Howdy, Pat.” Five-Fingers Martin was tall and flat-chested. He had a whisky-roughened voice and deep-set eyes. “You three still ridin’ on the tail of trouble, huh?”

Pat swung out of the saddle and gripped his hand. “Just makin’ an early hunting trip into the mountains,” he grunted. “You run this she-bang?”

“You bet. Just a huntin’ trip, huh? That’s good. That shore is good.” Five-Fingers threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Ain’t sayin’ what yo’re huntin’, I bet.”

“What d’yuh think?” Pat asked shortly.

“Well sir, I reckon you didn’t know about the mine holdup last Saturday. No sir, I s’pose you’re gonna say news of that didn’t reach down into Powder Valley. Nor ’bout the five-thousand dollar re-ward neither. No sir. I reckon you an’ Sam an’ Ezra wouldn’t be int’rested none in that five thousand dollars.”

“You guessed right,” Pat told him. “Got room for ten hawses tonight?”

“You bet. They’ll get the best care in town right here. Just go right on an’ leave ’em tuh me. I’ll take keer of yore gear an’ see they’re fed. Well, looky here, won’t yuh?” Five-Fingers looked up at Dock as he rode in, and blinked in surprise. “This young-un with you-all?” he asked Pat.

“My son,” Pat said shortly. “We’ll mosey over to the hotel an’ see can we get a room.”

“Jest imagine runnin’ into ol’ Five-Fingers here,” Ezra chuckled as the four of them went out to the street. “Thought he’d still be in the Texas penitentiary.”

“Who is he, Dad?” Dock looked up with sparkling eyes. “Was he in jail when you knew him?”

“That was a long time ago,” Pat muttered. “I reckon he’s reformed now. Didn’t seem to carry any hard feelin’s towards us,” he added to Sam and Ezra as they crossed the street.

“Nary a bit,” Sam said cheerfully. “Acted like he didn’t remember ’twas us that put him in jail that time.”

A tall, big-hatted man strode up to them as they reached the opposite side of the street in front of the Elite Hotel. He pushed his hat back and roared, “Pat Stevens! You ol’ lead-slinging side-winder. You didn’t waste any time getting here. These here your two partners from Powder Valley I’ve heard talk about?”

Pat said, “Sheriff Hartly.” He gripped the sheriff’s hand vigorously. “These’re my two pards Sam an’ Ezra,” he introduced them, “an’ my boy Dock,” he added proudly.

The Fairplay sheriff squinted down at the twelve-year-old with a look of dismay on his rugged face. “I’m s’prised you brought him along, Pat. Little young, ain’t he, to get mixed up in gun-play.”

“We don’t plan to get in on any gun-play,” Pat told him sharply. “Just stoppin’ in town overnight ’fore we push on up into the mountains.”

“Shore, I didn’t reckon you’d stay here more’n overnight,” Sheriff Hartly agreed. “But don’t make no mistake about runnin’ into gun-play when you trail the Runyon gang to their hideout. They’re killers, Pat.”

“We’re not figurin’ on trailing anybody anywhere,” Pat said angrily. “Sam Sloan here works for the Pony Express out of Denver an’ we’re looking for a route to cross the Divide down into Grand Junction. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Oh shore.” The sheriff pulled his right eyelid down in an elaborate wink. “Hunting for an Express route into the mountains, huh? That’s a smart story, Pat. Fair enough. I’ll ride with you in the morning and show you right where we lost the Runyon gang’s trail. Reckon that’s as good a place to start looking for your route, huh?” He lowered his eyelid in another long wink.

“We don’t know anything about the Runyon gang and don’t want to,” Pat told him loudly. “We’re going into the hotel to clean up. Why don’t you come around after supper for a confab?”

“You bet I will, Pat. Mighty glad to see you an’ your pards, even if you ain’t after that five thousand reward.”

“What’s he talking about, Dad?” Dock asked eagerly as they went toward the hotel. “What’s the Runyon gang? What’s he mean about five thousand dollars?”

“Looks like we’re gonna have a hard time makin’ anybody believe that ain’t why we’re here,” put in Sam from the other side of Dock. “Did you know about that mine hold-up an’ reward ’fore we got here, Pat?”

“No,” snapped Pat. “If I had known about it, I wouldn’t have come at all. First thing you know it’ll be all over town we’re here to chase a hold-up gang.”

He strode on into the dingy lobby of the hotel and approached the counter. A fat man wearing a striped shirt with pink garters on his bulging arms leaned forward and said, “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Fairplay and what can I do for you?”

“Two double rooms for the night,” Pat told him shortly. He picked up a rusty pen and wrote, “Pat Stevens and Son, Dutch Springs,” and turned to hand the pen to Sam.

Sam wrote his own name out laboriously, and added with a flourish, “An Ezra,” behind it. The hotel-keeper turned the register around to inspect the signatures while he got out two room keys. He had thick blond eyebrows. They crawled upward on his forehead like two frightened worms as he read the names of his guests.

“Dutch Springs is in Powder Valley, isn’t it, sir?” he asked Pat.

“What if it is?” Pat reached for the keys.

“But this is splendid, sir. We’ve all heard of you and your companions, of course. I must say that your exploits are well known here. Every honest citizen in Fairplay will be glad to know that you are riding on the trail of the Runyon gang. You’ll be my guests tonight, sir.” He waved a dimpled hand. “No charge for the rooms. I’m proud to have you in my hotel.”

Pat said, “We’ll pay our way, thanks. Sorry to disappoint you but we ain’t trailin’ the Runyon gang.” He gathered up the keys and led the way upstairs.

“Gee, Dad,” breathed Dock ecstatically, when he and his father were together in a hotel room upstairs, “I didn’t know you was that famous. Everybody knows about you.”

Pat grunted angrily, shucking off his sheepskin coat. “It’s all a lot of foolishment,” he grumbled, “just because Sam an’ Ezra an’ me was lucky trailin’ down some killers a couple of times. Get off your coat and wash up for supper.” He went across and poured water from a pitcher into the tin wash basin on an oilcloth covered stand by the window.

“You sure did pull the wool over mama’s eyes slick this time,” Dock chuckled as he took off his coat.

Pat looked up from the basin to sputter, “What’s that you said?”

“The way you got her to let you come.” Dock’s voice was admiring. “Makin’ up that story about looking for an Express route. When did you find out about the mine holdup and the reward, Dad?”

Pat reached for a towel and began rubbing his face. “First heard of it a few minutes ago in the livery stable.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Dad. I won’t tell anyone the truth.”

Pat emptied the wash basin and gestured toward it. “Come over here and scrub your face. And stop asking questions that don’t concern you,” he went on angrily. “If I was after any gang of killers, do you think I’d have brought you along?”

“Sure,” said Dock cheerfully. “You had to, I reckon. You couldn’t tell mama I couldn’t come without tellin’ her why. An’ if you’d told her that, she wouldn’t of let you come.”

Pat’s face reddened. He said ominously, “You’re gettin’ too smart for your britches, young man. If you keep on plaguing me, I’ll send you straight home tomorrow.”

Dock knew his father well enough to shut up. He went to the wash basin and dipped the tips of his fingers in the cold water, began dabbing at his face cautiously.

The door opened and Sam came in. He and Ezra had the room next door. He said cheerfully, “Looks like we’ll maybe have some fun this trip after all, huh?”

Pat said, “We’ll have fun enough when we get to Sanctuary Flat.”

“Maybe before we get there too,” Sam suggested eagerly. “’Cordin’ to what the sheriff said, that there Runyon gang must be hidin’ out in the mountains where we’re headed. If we should jest happen tuh run ’cross ’em while we’re huntin’ a trail across the Divide, I reckon it wouldn’t hurt none to earn that reward money while we’re about it.”

Pat Stevens sank down on the edge of the bed, shaking his head angrily. “We’re not up here to chase mine holdups. I don’t want any truck with the Runyon gang. Come on, Dock. You ready for supper?”

“Sure. You betcha.” Dock hastily wiped the trail-dust from his face with a damp towel and tossed it aside. Ezra met them outside the door, and the four of them went down to the lobby together.

Half a dozen men were in the lobby now, gathered about the desk and talking excitedly to the clerk. One of them looked up and said something as the three men and boy descended the stairs, and the group became instantly silent.

One man detached himself from the others and met the quartet at the foot of the stairs. He was a thin man of medium height, wearing a floppy black hat, gray woolen shirt, and muddy leather boots laced up tightly about his calves.

He said, “I want to have a word with you, Mr. Stevens,” in a quiet, determined voice.

Until he spoke, Pat didn’t recognize him as Dexter Van Urban, the Eastern railroad builder and one of the five members of the Sanctuary Cattle Syndicate of Denver.

Pat said, “Sure, Mr. Van Urban. These here are my pardners …”

Van Urban made an impatient gesture. “I know who your friends are. It’s all over town by this time. Please come upstairs with me to Mr. Raine’s room.”

“O. Manley Raine?” Pat demanded in surprise. “What’re you an’ him doin’ here in Fairplay?”

“Please, Stevens.” Van Urban took his arm. “I prefer not to discuss these matters in public.”

“Sure,” muttered Pat. He told the others, “Go ahead to the restaurant next door an’ start supper. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

He climbed the stairs silently beside Van Urban. Anger was boiling up inside him at the way he was being treated like an office clerk, but he kept his anger in check until Van Urban opened a door and ushered him into a room where the Denver bank president was seated in a rocking chair by the window.

He stepped inside and waited for Van Urban to close the door before demanding, “Are you two fellers following me? I don’t like it if you are. If you can’t trust me to do a job, you can hire someone else.”

“We can easily explain our presence in Fairplay,” Van Urban told him incisively, “and we want you to do the same.”

“Start explaining then.”

“It’s simple enough. We haven’t followed you as you seem to think. We’re examining the possibility of running a railroad up here from Denver. I’ve been making a field survey and Mr. Raine is arranging to float a bond issue to finance the line. Can you explain yourself as satisfactorily?”

“Why should I?” Pat demanded. “How do you figure it’s your business?”

“You are supposed to be doing an important job for the syndicate of which Mr. Raine and I are both members,” Van Urban reminded him. “We have a large sum of money at stake in Sanctuary Flat. If you intend to spend your time chasing bandits through the mountains for a five-thousand dollar reward, we think you should at least notify the syndicate so we can make other arrangements to take care of our problem on Sanctuary Flat.”

“That’s certainly not too much to ask,” said the banker peevishly, folding his hands over his fat paunch and nodding.

“What makes you think I’m chasing bandits?” Pat asked angrily.

“It’s all over town,” the banker told him. “Everyone knows the sheriff has sent for you and your cronies to catch the holdup men that he can’t catch.”

“The hell it’s all over town,” Pat grated. “Suppose I tell you both I didn’t know anything about the mine holdup till after we hit town tonight?”

“Then I think you’d better explain what you’re doing here with a pack outfit instead of on your way to Sanctuary Flat where you agreed to go,” Van Urban told him cuttingly.

“What makes you think I’m not on my way to Sanctuary Flat?”

“Making a detour through Fairplay?” Van Urban raised his eyebrows incredulously. “Really, Stevens! All of us know the only route into the Flat is by rail from Pueblo.”

Being a fair man himself, Pat Stevens recognized at once the justice of their criticism. He’d feel the same way if he’d hired a man to do an important job and then found him traipsing off somewhere else as though he had no intention of doing the job.

He said quietly, “Two men have already got themselves killed by ridin’ a train into the Flat to find out what’s happenin’ to yore cattle.”

“True enough,” O. Manley Raine said impatiently. “But you knew all about that when you accepted the assignment. Are you trying to tell us you got cold feet after thinking it over?”

Pat glared at the fat bank president and fought back his anger. He wasn’t in the habit of explaining himself to anyone, but he did feel that these men deserved an explanation of his intentions.

“I’ve got a hunch there’s another way to get down into the Flat without bein’ marked for murder like yore other two men were,” he told them gruffly. He went on to explain his scheme for pretending to be exploring out a Pony Express route across the Divide.

“That way, we’ll have a chance to look around in the Flat some without anybody suspectin’ what we’re doing. I even brought my boy along with me so’s it’d look right.”

“An excellent plan, it seems to me,” Mr. Raine approved when Pat finished.

“But what about this story that’s all over town about you being here to chase down the Runyon gang?” Van Urban demanded.

Pat shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t help what people think. If that’s all you want, I’ll go on and eat supper.”

“I owe you an apology,” Van Urban told him stiffly. He extended his hand. “You know how anxious we are to get that Sanctuary Flat matter cleared up.”

“Shore. I don’t blame you none for wonderin’ what I was doing up here.” Pat gripped the engineer’s hand, nodded to the banker, and started out. He stopped in the doorway to warn them. “Be best if you don’t say anything to anybody about where we’re really headin’. Let ’em think we’re after the Runyon gang if they want to.”

Both men assured him his secret was safe with them, and Pat went down to join the others at supper.